


I am my own man (I make my own luck)

by Undercover_Royalty



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Peter’s growing up, Wholesome relationships, endgame ended happily because we love ourselves, just some quality “father-son” bonding, kinda a character exploration?, oh my god I have midterms what am I dOING, the stresses of college applications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undercover_Royalty/pseuds/Undercover_Royalty
Summary: College applications are coming up, and Peter has to explain something to Tony.





	I am my own man (I make my own luck)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! 
> 
> I’m back (again). Wow, I have no schedule for these things. 
> 
> I feel like this is one of my brain’s last hurrahs before Endgame hurtles down from the sun and destroys me. Even so, enjoy some IronDad fluff!
> 
> This fic is also heavily inspired by American Author’s song, Luck, bc it gave me some serious Peter and Tony vibes today. Feel free to use it as background music— I sure did! 
> 
> As ever, comments are always welcome and thanks so much for reading!

Peter was starting to dread Friday afternoons. 

And that, truly, was a tragedy. As a newly-minted senior in high school, Friday afternoon ought to be the absolute greatest day and time known to man. Backpacks could finally be shoved under beds (where they belonged) and finally, finally, he could relax and take a few blissful hours, all for himself. 

Well, okay, that wasn’t exactly true either. Because for Peter, Friday afternoons meant workshop sessions with Tony. So, at the start of each weekend, he was immediately leaving his science-oriented school to... go do more science. Technically engineering. But... yeah. As if anybody didn’t know already, he was a little bit of a nerd. But hey, alternatively, what person wouldn’t want to spend their Friday afternoon in Tony Stark’s _personal_ workshop? Peter suspected that more than a few of his classmates might just faint at the prospect. 

And yet... and yet. 

As the car pulled up, Peter was jittery for an entirely different reason. He shook it off as he stepped out of the car, waving and calling a thank-you to Happy as the older man trundled off on the opposite direction. Sure, Peter could legally drive now, but May needed the car during the week and well... when he phrased things in the context of it being more convenient for May, Happy was willing to do just about anything. Including waiting in an obnoxiously large carpool line for him each and every Friday. The guy really was smitten. 

Yeah, Peter was still a little weirded out by it. No, he’s never once said anything to May. She was happy too, and for that, he’d undergo any awkwardness he had to. 

As he approached the upstairs conference rooms where FRIDAY had located his mentor, Peter’s fingers began to drum, nervously. For a moment, he was exasperated with himself— he hadn’t felt like this in years. Tony was just Tony, at that point. Peter had finally kicked himself out of the reflexive habit of calling him ‘Mr. Stark’ the year before. 

(He had only meant to ask a question. But he’d barely offered a “Mr. Stark?” before Tony had gone completely rigid in his chair. He’d whipped around and stared at Peter like the gates of hell had just opened underneath him. The ensuing panic attack had been nothing short of brutal— Peter doing his absolute best to talk his mentor through it. He could still remember the fearful look in the older man’s eyes as he stared up at him from the floor, soundlessly mouthing the same phrase over and over. 

“You’re alright.” 

“You’re alright.”) 

As the doors came open, Peter realized he was going to have to be extra-careful with his form of address, today. 

Luckily, Tony seemed to be in a perfectly good mood, placing down a stack of papers as he turned to greet the teenager. 

“Hey, kid.” he greeted, casually, striding past him and briefly ruffling his curls with one hand. 

Peter made an embarrassing half-squeak, half-scoff, indignantly fixing his curls as he trailed the man down the hall. 

“You know I actually put effort into my hair, today.” he groused. 

“Oh yes you did,” Tony agreed, shaking out his hand, “I’m gonna have the remnants of this cement mixture you call hair gel on my hand for days.” 

“Serves you right.” Peter retorted, leaning around the older man to survey his reflection in the gleaming elevator doors. He flattened the loosened curls back down, grumbling in frustration when a few strands continued to defy order and jut outwards. 

Tony watched him, amusedly. 

“Big night tonight?” he questioned, as the doors slid open. 

“MJ’s gonna be on a panel at Empire State University— something about women of color in journalism, I think.” Peter explained, tapping the button for the lab, both briefly flashing their security badges, “She said I can come so long as I promise not to be an ‘embarrassing nerd’.” 

“Somehow, I foresee that being a complete failure.” 

“...I’m still going.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. You got an outfit planned?” 

The elevator doors slid open. Peter made a sweeping gesture to his usual flannel/sweater/jeans combination. Tony nodded, thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, no.” he decided, “But we’ll figure that out later.” 

Peter had to bite his tongue to keep from arguing. There was no point.

(Besides, if he went along with it, maybe, just maybe, Tony would let him borrow a pair of his shades.) 

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

They’d been working in the lab for about thirty minutes when it finally happened. 

Peter looked up from his work re-wiring a few points in his suit to find Tony glancing at a few shiny handouts laid out across his workspace. One was a vivid red with bold black lettering. 

MIT. 

Peter felt his stomach drop just as Tony looked up. 

“You looked through this yet?” Tony asked, casually. 

“Uh... yeah.” Peter nodded. 

Oh, he had. He and Ned has spent the better part of an hour geeking out over the website, going on a virtual tour and learning all of the fun facts— they had a whole club devoted to _chocolate making_! They brought in puppies for finals! 

But he wasn’t about to tell Tony that. 

“You started your application yet?” Tony questioned, returning to his examination of one of Natasha’s upgraded gauntlets. 

“I have.” 

Started? More like it was the first one he’d finished. He was still sending his essays to just about every teacher he knew (as well as May), checking them over and over for imperfections. Just last week, MJ had even read them over for him and given some good pointers— she truly was the best. 

“How ‘bout your recommendations?” Tony finally asked. 

“Um—“ Peter managed to get out, face going bright red as his voice honest-to-God squeaked on the word. 

Oh God, here it came— 

—But, when Peter finally met his mentor’s eyes again, he was uncharacteristically quiet. For another minute, he tinkered with Natasha’s gauntlet. Peter hesitantly glanced back to his own work, wondering if perhaps, they’d just scoot over it. Yeah, that’d be nice. Just a little bit of luck, and he wouldn’t even have to mention it. 

Peter should’ve known better. Parkers always had the worst luck. 

“If you needed, y’know,” Tony coughed, in a way that wasn’t entirely convincing, “I’d always be willing to throw in a good word for you, Pete.”

He had to do it. He had to say something. 

“—Mr— I mean, Tony— that’s—“ 

“—I mean, hell, I’d call the admissions office right now, tell ‘em I’ll withdraw SI’s funding if you aren’t in. You could skip the whole friggin process if you wanted—“ 

“— _Tony_.” Peter finally cut him off. 

It was louder than he meant for it to be. Tony cut off mid-word, staring back at him with both eyebrows raised. Peter’s fingers began to drum, nervously, again. 

A part of him merely wanted to just agree, agree, agree— it would be so _easy_. Tony would do it, in a heartbeat. He could stop keeping himself up at night, wondering about the what-ifs. There wouldn’t be any uncertainty, that uncomfortable chill he got in Ms. Warren’s lab when he realized just how short a time it’d be before he’d leave it forever. Maybe MJ would finally stop drawing those sketches of him as Troy in High School Musical 3, screaming at the sky. 

But that other part of Peter, that part of him that’s existed for as long as he’s remembered, the part that’s pulled him out from under warehouses, forced him to hold together cruise ships, sent him gliding through thunderstorms— _that_ part of him sends up a sharp, clarifying protest. 

Peter’s fingers stopped drumming. Slowly, calmly, he glanced back to Tony. 

“Look, that’s... that’s really cool of you. _Beyond_ that, to be honest.” Peter emphasizeed, “And I appreciate it. But I can’t let you do that.” 

Tony looked a little confused. It was almost like that first day, years ago, sitting on his tiny twin bed, that face he’d given him when he asked why Peter was out there every afternoon in sweatpants and a cut-up hoodie. 

“Kid, you’re not _letting_ me do anything.” Tony explained, patiently, “I want to do that for you. You deserve it.” 

Peter shook his head. 

“Not any more than anybody else.” 

The sudden bolt of lightning that sparked in Tony’s eyes sent him scrambling for words before the older man could beat him to it. 

“—Tony, I really appreciate everything you’ve ever done for me. I’m not trying to negate that. But, what I’m trying to say is... I’ve gotta do this on my own.” 

The older man’s eyes were still guarded, but at least he was coming back down from that spark of indignation. He leaned his head in one hand, pseudo-casually. 

“Say that doesn’t work.” he offered, tone light despite the obvious discomfort in the room, “Say you aren’t in. Then what?” 

Peter took another grounding breath. 

“Then I won’t go.” 

He paused, uncomfortably. He never liked to consider this part. 

“I dunno, maybe I’ll go to ESU for the year and try transferring the next spring.” 

Tony was quiet for a long, long time. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and Peter knew it. Almost as long as he’d known the man, Tony had been pushing MIT on him— he was overtly happy, in his own way, when Peter shyly confessed it was his top choice last year. Hell, they’d even _gone on the tour_ together that past summer, Tony wearing a masterful disguise courtesy of Natasha. Peter had gotten a real kick out of calling him “Dad” that day. MIT was one of their bonding things, just like the lab and all the superhero stuff. With that in mind, Peter saying he wouldn’t go seemed unthinkable. 

‘ _But you know this is right_.’ muttered a familiar voice in the back of his head, a voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long time, ‘ _You’re doing the right thing, Peter._ ’ 

And he was. 

He was doing things the way his Uncle Ben had taught him. 

And, when Tony finally looked back up, Peter got the strangest feeling that he understood that. 

“Okay.” he said, returning to the gauntlet. 

“Okay.” said Peter, before he slowly sat back down. 

Another silence ensued. Tools clinked every so often against the tables. Finally, after the silence had become almost unbearable, Tony muttered something, barely audible over the background noise of their work. 

“Better make sure those essays are killer.” 

Peter heard him, of course. 

“Yeah.” he confessed, a little bashfully, a hand going to the back of his neck. 

And then, after another moment, an idea struck him— something so painfully simple it was a wonder it hadn’t occurred to him already. He glanced down at his bag, where he knew his laptop was tucked away, then turned around in his seat, hopefully. 

“Uh, actually, about that...”

Tony glanced up. 

“...could you, uh... could you help me look over them?” 

After a brief second, Tony turned back to the gauntlet— but it wasn’t quick enough to mask the small smile Peter saw, as it flickered over his face. The gauntlet was finally placed aside as Tony stood up, knees briefly cracking in protest. 

“Sure I can, kid.” he agreed, “But we’re gonna need to call in Rhodey for this one, too— he always was better with essays.” 

Peter couldn’t help the huge grin that overtook him as he leapt up, accidentally knocking over his stool with his foot and quickly steadying it back as he slung his backpack on. Tony met him at the door, a hand clapping over his shoulder as he led him out. 

“So here’s the game plan— Rhodey can look over your essays first, while I handle your outfit for MJ’s thing, capichè?” 

“Alright, _fine_ , you win.” 

His mentor did genuinely smile as the elevator doors slid open. 

“I always do, Pete.” 

So, yeah. Uncertainty was all over his life like a bad sunburn. Peter figured he was gonna have more than a few sleepless nights left before decision day rolled around. But, as he was led into the elevator, Tony’s hand still firm on his shoulder, Peter considered that there were some things that just didn’t change. May’s bad cooking. Ned’s penchant for obscure Star Wars puns. 

And just like those things— MIT or not— Peter knew that he would _always_ have Tony.


End file.
